


Partners in Crime

by ashkatom



Series: 100 Follower Ficathon [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, some poor indigoblood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psiionic and Disciple get bored and have an adventure. An adventure in blowing shit up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners in Crime

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this one was "Psi and Disciple sneaking out and going on adventures! (Or adventure, if you like singular things.) Quadrant optional, but casual <3s or furriendship would be cute :3c"

It is, if you’ll forgive the pun, an absolutely _purrfect_ opportunity.

Kar is busy. Kar has been busy with Rosa for the last few days, planning out a route that will a) avoid the drones and b) let him preach to as many people as possible. Given that you and Pol are just his backup, you don’t really have much to do except lounge around in your kinda gross payhive room and throw leaflets with titles like _So You Haven’t Filled Your Quadrants, Cullbait_ at each other.

You are both so very, _very_ bored.

You’ve edited together Kar’s latest visions and taken out most of the convoluted metaphors comparing the Condesce to a sea slug. Pol has scouted the area five times just to make sure that the place you decided on for Kar’s next sermon is secure.  You have played fifty-three games of Hinged Double Cutting Blades - Flat Treated Tree Covering Made For The Purpose Of Writing - Rock and won twenty-nine of them.

“If you have failed to fill your concupithent quadrantth by the age of eight thweepth,” Pol reads, “the Empire feelth that the contributionth that you can make to the furtheranthe of the troll rathe may be negligible.”

“As your eighth sweep apurroaches,” you pick up, “you may find yourself dreading your fate! The most impurrtant thing is to not panic. Remember that it is purrobably too late to find a matespurrit or kismewsis, and turn yourself in to the authorities. Remember: if it was fated to be, it would have happened by now!”

“Thith ith legitimately deprething,” Pol says, and burns the leaflet up in a flash of blue-red. You throw yours at him and he burns that one up too, leaving the acrid smell of charred gloss paper in the air.

Kar looks up from the small desk that he and Rosa are hunched over, a hundred colour pens scattered over it and an old, beat-up husktop almost falling off the edge. “Do you two mind? I’m just trying to save us all and overthrow an empire here, no big deal.”

You slump back on one of the padded platforms and look at Kar upside-down with the biggest eyes you can muster. “I’m _bored_ , Kar!”

Pol slumps next to you. “Me too.”

“Well then, get the fuck out of here for a while and go make yourselves useful somehow,” he says, before rubbing his face and returning to the map in front of him. “Bring back a bag of sugar. No, two bags. And some caffeine.”

You and Pol share a look, then scramble over each other in an attempt to get out of the room before Rosa realises she hasn’t laid down any rules like she usually does.

\--

“How did thith happen?” Pol asks, an indeterminate amount of time later.

You stare out of the prison cell, your arms wrapped loosely around the bars. “I think we make bad decisions,” you say, eventually.

Pol leans against you. “Tho, what do we do now?”

You look at him, and the beginnings of a smile curls up the corners of your lips. “You even have to ask?”

\--

“Help me!” you screech. “This guy’s _insane_ , he keeps talking about haemospectrum equalist rights!”

Pol cups his hands over his mouth to give himself a little extra volume and winces apologetically at you. “You’re not keeping me down anymore, greenblood bitch!”

“I should cull you _right where you stand_.” You rattle the bars of the cell and peer down the hall. “Lousy pissblood scum!” you snap as an afterthought. “Eat cement!”

Pol picks up the lone recuperacoon in the cell with his psionics and slams it against the wall. It cracks open and starts leaking slime everywhere. “Oh fuck, my thpleen!” he cries, then shrugs when you roll your eyes at him.

“If you two can’t keep your hatepailing down, I AM GOING TO COME IN THERE AND AUSPICE,” the lone indigoblood yells from her position around the corner.

“I think he’s a Signless follower!” you yell, only to be rewarded by the sight of your indigo guard appearing at the end of the hall. You wave a hand at Pol and he flops down bonelessly, somehow dimming his eyes. “Look, he’s wearing _red_ ,” you say when your guard draws closer.

The indigo leans down to meet your eyes through the cell door. You’re practically nose-to-nose through the bars, close enough so that you can see the scars her makeup is hiding. Her eyes are flat and cold, and a chill runs through you.

“Little sister,” she says, “do you think I don’t know who you are?”

“That’s okay,” you say, and stick your hands through the bars to grab handfuls of her hair. She tries to rear back, but you dig your heels in and hang on, and Pol slams a handful of sopor in her face before she can pull free. “I think you’re a friend,” you say soothingly as her pupils dilate.

“Friend?” the indigo says.

You nod encouragingly. “And friends don’t keep friends locked up, right, Pol?”

“Right,” he says.

\--

The prison is full of redbloods and brownbloods, and you let them all loose with the orders to Do Unto Others and Spread The Word and also to Leave Names And Descriptions Out Of It Thank You Kindly Otherwise We Will Be Quite Fucked.

Pol melts all the locks and keys, then rubs his hands together. “I don’t feel like we’re _done_ here, AC.”

“We have a higher purrpose,” you inform him, and hand him a crowbar you found in a supply room. “If we destroy the computers, they’ll never know we were efur here. They upload at midday.”

Pol swings the crowbar experimentally, then grins. “AC, have I told you I love you lately?”

“You could tell me more often,” you say, and swing. A monitor explodes in a shower of glass, each of them reflecting your grins as you do something to pay back the Empire for once.

\--

Pol tilts his head. “I don’t think we’ve made enough of a thtatement.”

The room is littered with cell bars, melted keys, and shattered bits of computer. A camera in the corner is recording a piece of paper with “love, the haemoequalists <33<” written on it, and Pol has carved the word 2IIGNLE22 into the floor inch-deep and smoking. Your indigo guard is asleep in what was your cell, though hopefully she wakes up and flees before the authorities arrive and cull her.

You nod once, decisively. “We need a signal! Otherwise it’s going to be hours before anyone apurreciates our hard work.”

He offers you an arm. “Act casual, AC. We’re jutht walking on out of here, no problemth.”

You raise an eyebrow but take his arm. Pollux has never steered you wrong before! Except when he has.

Pol pulls out a coin once the two of you are outside. It feels a little surreal, knowing how trashed the inside of the building is and having everyone just passing by.

“Headth, I explode all the glath,” he says. “Tailth, the outer wallth.”

“What about the indigoblood?” you ask.

“She’ll be fine, the cells are built solid.” He flips the coin and it comes down tails. Your blood is pumping with adrenaline, and the grin you share with him may be more than a little wild. It’s been so long since you’ve done anything other than sit in a room and this feels _good_ , like you were made for raiding the Empire and fucking shit up. “On three, we run like fuck,” he says, and you nod.

“One,” he says, and squeezes your hand in his.

“Two,” you say, and prepare yourself.

“Three,” he says, and an explosion rocks your world.

You grab Pol by the shoulders, twist him into a dip smoothly, and kiss him. You’ve always wanted to kiss _someone_ in front of an explosion, it’s so romantic. Except for the shrapnel nicking your skin and the dust in your hair. You could do without that.

\--

When you enter the payhive block, a bag of chocolate and iced coffee in one hand and Pol’s hand in the other, Kar and Rosa twist from watching the entertainment screen to staring at you. On the screen, there are two figures that are obviously you and Pol, although you’re shrouded in enough explosion dust that all of your identifying features are blurred out.

“Seriously?” Kar asks.

You toss him the bag. “Got you sugar!”

“And caffeine,” Pol adds.

“We were bored,” you say.

Rosa shakes her head and turns the screen off. Karcin starts in on a detailed explanation of how much he hates the both of you and how he hopes you choke on your own bulges. Pol squeezes your hand and you squeeze back, and everything feels like it’s how it should be for now.


End file.
